


The Trouble with Trebuchets

by danceswithgary



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-12
Updated: 2008-11-12
Packaged: 2017-10-04 02:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithgary/pseuds/danceswithgary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney saw the look of dismay flash across John's face at almost the same instant as he heard the unmistakable thwump of the tiny weapon's discharge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trouble with Trebuchets

"Oops?"

Rodney watched in horror as the disgusting red-yellow blob slowly wended its slimy way southward along sleek golden curves never meant to be sullied by ersatz foodstuffs. He half-rose to his feet to check the final plop into the dark crevice constrained behind leather laces, his hand reaching out involuntarily until he was yanked unceremoniously back into his seat, a hissed "McKay!" sizzling ears deafened by a rush of panicked blood.

Closing his eyes in an attempt to deny the signs of the approaching apocalypse, and thoroughly regretting his genius-driven impulse to get out of bed that morning at way-the-fuck-too-early o'clock, Rodney gulped and wheezed out, "God, we are so unbelievably screwed."

 

=0=0=

 

"I vote we take _Life of Brian_ off the team's future movie list."

"Come on, Rodney, it's a classic." John barely paused as he entered Rodney's room, the door responding instantly to his mental command. He headed straight for the bathroom, kicking his untied boots off in the general direction of Rodney's desk.

Following close behind him, Rodney disagreed; his voice only temporarily muffled as he yanked his t-shirt off and dropped it in the center of the floor. "While I'll acknowledge it's a classic, spending hours explaining cultural references to Teyla and Ronon, when those references are equally obscure to a large portion of Earth's population, is not proving to be amusing. It was almost painful dealing with unladen swallows, shrubberies, and migrating coconuts tonight."

John frowned as he handed Rodney his toothbrush, applying toothpaste to his own. "Ronon liked the siege scene with the trebuchet."

The discussion was placed on hold long enough for the brushing of teeth, doffing of remaining clothing, and any other ablutions to be completed before continuing under the sheets on Rodney's bed. "Trebuchet? I'm impressed. Most people would call it a catapult, which isn't entirely incorrect."

Turning on his side to face Rodney, John shrugged as he reached out to run his fingers down Rodney's flank to a softly padded hip. "I went to a couple of SCA events when I was at Stanford."

Rodney did nothing to hide his amusement at the revelation, his chuckles vibrating against John's ribs as Rodney lunged and pinned him flat. "I can see it, all the wenches pursuing the rakish young corsair in flowing white shirt, breeches, and hip boots...cutlass optional."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I wasn't there for the wenches. I was more interested in the jousting and the weapons." John only put up a token struggle under Rodney before opening his legs and letting Rodney settle between them. "One weekend I happened to catch a trebuchet competition for distance and accuracy. It was kind of cool."

Wriggling until they were comfortably aligned, Rodney shook his head. "I don't want to hear about your dabbling in the Society for Creative Anachronism. You're interrupting my fantasy of the disgraced Sir John Sheppard sailing the Seven Seas carrying his letters of marque, pillaging and plundering far and wide with his famed sword."

John's burst of laughter left Rodney feeling as if he'd been riding the bounding main. Settling into the occasional chuckle, John retorted, "Well, I have my own fantasy of Laird Rodney McKay striding around in his kilt and sporran, berating his clan about their inability to calculate the correct angles and trajectories, thus rendering his new and improved trebuchet useless until he leaps in and solves the problem himself."

"A kilt?"

"You fantasized hip boots." John thrust up lazily beneath Rodney, reminding him of where they'd been before they'd been sidetracked. "So, is that a musket in your pocket, McKay, or are you just happy to see me?"

Rodney snorted and shoved back with slightly more force. "Since I'm currently sans pockets...."

"Then how about you educate me about angles, force, and velocity...and I'll let you touch my famed sword."

Vacillating between discouraging any further manifestation of John's sophomoric humor and encouraging the rising interest in certain portions of his anatomy, Rodney went with the latter and merely replied, "You are such a freak, Sir Sheppard."

 

=0=0=

 

"This is why I woke up alone?" John studied the small construction Rodney had triumphantly placed in the palm of his hand as soon as they'd taken their seats at their customary table. He ignored his breakfast while he attempted to make sense of the thin metal slats and cords.

Rodney huffed and snatched the mysterious item back. "Yes, I had an idea and I couldn't wait, so I let you sleep and went down to the lab." After a few quick movements, he returned a very different-looking object to John. "There. Your very own hand trebuchet."

Ronon's growled observation announced his arrival only a few seconds before the slam of his food tray on the table made Rodney jump. "Almost looks like that weapon in the movie last night."

After frowning in exasperation at Ronon's oft-repeated 'joke,' Rodney tipped his chin skyward in self-satisfaction. "Exactly."

"A little small." Ronon dismissed Rodney's achievement with a raised eyebrow before diving into the pile of food in front of him. "Won't kill any Wraith with that."

"Good morning, everyone." Teyla's pleasant greeting short-circuited Rodney's scathing reply and he simply smiled in return before retreating into his coffee cup. Teyla sat gracefully and selected some honey from the condiments tray in the center of the table. "What is that, John? A new toy?"

John looked up from his investigation of the tiny levers and pulleys with a brilliant smile. "Rodney made it for me because I told him I thought trebuchets were cool!" He set the small machine down to begin eating his eggs and toast with markedly less enthusiasm than he'd displayed for his gift.

The tilt of her head and the little wrinkle in Teyla's nose was the only indication that she was puzzled, but the team had learned to interpret those signs. Rodney leaped in with additional information. "It's a working model. I built it last night using those tools I found in one of the labs, so it was a good exercise. Oh, there's something else!" Reaching into his pocket, Rodney pulled out his PDA and brought up a chart. "I ran a few tests and extrapolated the results based on a number of factors such as prevailing winds, distance to target, size, weight and shape of ammunition...."

"Cool." John dropped his fork to accept the PDA and scroll down through Rodney's findings. "What did you use?"

"Won't hold a dead cow." Ronon's deadpan delivery surprised a snort from John before he suppressed it to avoid annoying Rodney.

"Nor will it ever be able to fling buckets of flaming pitch. That doesn't mean it doesn't...."

John raised a calming hand to Rodney before the breakfast table turned into a battlefield. "Hey, it's okay. I'm sure we can find a substitute." He scanned the table for a moment before grabbing a bottle of ketchup. "This'll work." He poured a large dollop onto his plate and began mixing in the reconstituted scrambled eggs he hadn't finished eating.

"I'm glad you didn't choose something that's actually edible." Rodney nodded his approbation of John's activities. "Here, I added stabilizer rings to the base so it won't tip over easily. They slip over your fingers like so." Rodney guided John's hand into position, the warmth of his hands invoking pleasant memories of the night before. "Just be careful of the trigger mechanism. I think it might need a few more adjustments."

Teyla shook her head in rueful dismay at the proceedings. "I confess I do not understand your culture's habit of using portions of a meal as a weapon. I suppose it must be different living on a planet where food is always plentiful. The Athosian children rarely had to be disciplined more than once for wasting provisions."

Looking down as he carefully loaded the cup with his improvised 'flaming pitch,' John attempted to placate her, "Relax, Teyla. It's just a little demonstration. I was done eating, so it's not like I'm taking food away from someone else. See, I won't even aim it toward any...."

Rodney saw the look of dismay flash across John's face at almost the same instant as he heard the unmistakable thwump of the tiny weapon's discharge.

=0=0=

[Click for Artwork by cryptocat](http://pics.livejournal.com/danceswithgary/pic/000grf00)

=0=0=

"John. Give me that, please."

Rodney doubted the existence of any human in the Pegasus galaxy who could deny one of Teyla's deceptively calm, polite requests. John certainly wasn't proving Rodney's contention wrong any time soon. Carefully disengaging the traitorous mechanism from his fingers, the same fingers John would stoutly proclaim 'steady as a rock' despite their imitation of a California streetlight at 4.5 on the Richter scale, John handed it over with an apologetic 'I'm an idiot, but you know you love me, right?' grin.

Teyla did not smile in return.

Ronon smirked down from his blame-free and self-righteous pedestal, obviously enjoying his teammates' discomfiture.

Leaning over in John's direction, Rodney grumbled out of the side of his mouth, "Why'd you do that, you moron?"

John's eyes were wide in disbelief, as he turned his head to whisper back, "What? Hand it over? Are you crazy? She has really big sticks...and she knows how to use them!"

Teyla inspected the simple mechanism, attached it to her hand, and calmly selected the bottle of hot chili sauce she favored. Few other people could tolerate its intensity, but the Athosians had used something similar in many of their dishes. Rodney wouldn't go near it, swearing that it could sear through clothing and skin, let alone the lining of a stomach. She added a generous portion to the few spoonfuls of porridge she had left in her bowl, stirring slowly and carefully until the consistency appeared perfect for a wet splat that would spread on impact and cling and _burn_.

"John, Rodney."

Rodney sat motionless, any hope of escape evaporating under the dark gaze trained on him and his clumsy oaf of a boyfriend. All that kept repeating in his head as he faced their doom was, "This is really going to hurt."

"Now, as I was saying about disciplining children...."

 

[Click for Artwork by cryptocat](http://pics.livejournal.com/danceswithgary/pic/000gqxbg)

 

fin

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [SGA Flash Fiction Team Challenge](http://community.livejournal.com/sga_flashfic/tag/team+challenge). Plot suggested by cryptocat when she wrote 'my favorite genre is crack and my favorite word is trebuchet' and started a very interesting burble in my brain.


End file.
